


The one with daemons (or Clarke really doesn’t have time for this)

by rhuanious



Series: Daemons Fusion [1]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Daemons, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-03-25 11:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3808036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhuanious/pseuds/rhuanious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one with daemons. The histories left a few things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Fragmentary start to a retelling. Might eventually figure out how to continue this.

No one talks about it, after the world ends. None of survivors wanted to talk, to remember what had been lost in their journey to the stars. It wasn’t Earth they missed the most. 

-

By the time Clarke is twelve she is long used to seeing flashes of color, of movement out of the corner of her eye, has long since stopped turning to look. There is never anything there, even if it always feels like there should be, like something is missing and always has been. 

Sometimes she thinks she hears what could be wing beats, or the soft padding of furred feet besides her, but that’s not possible. There is no live on the Ark that isn’t controlled, isn’t known. No animals could stowaway on a space station, it’s not like one of those ships in the old movies, where cats and rats slunk in the shadows, where parrots road on shoulders. The heartbeat of the Ark is the hum of the lights, the buzz of monitors and screens, and the constant sound of fans, anything else just isn’t possible, no matter how sure she is that she hears claws clicking on the floor.

Clarke told her dad once when she was younger, about the flashes of movement, of sound, insisting that there had to be animals and he had looked unbearably sad for a moment, as though his heart was breaking. He had found a smile for her then, sad and small, and just put his hand on her head for a moment before ruffling her hair, and telling her to go find Wells. 

As she had walked away, she turned her head back to her Dad and saw him reach a hand up towards his shoulder and pause, his face old and tired, before he shook off the some invisible weight and turned back to his desk. Clarke never mentions the flashes to her father again.

She thinks about telling Wells, about asking him if he has ever seen them too. She never does.  
-  
Solitary is awful. Even the charcoal her mother sneaks her is little more than a stopgap to her fear. Drawing her dreams of Earth, of trees and animals, only makes her aware of time ticking onward. She won’t ever see these things, not even on a screen, again. Clarke will turn 18 and they won’t hesitate to push the button on her, just like they didn’t with her dad. All she can think about some days is his face as the doors open behind him.

-

The ones who hid in the stars did their best to forget what they had lost in the journey, that their hearts became hidden, couldn’t stand with them in the stars. Most didn’t tell their children, tried to keep the books and stories away, let hearts given shape become metaphor instead of truth. Didn’t want them to miss what they would never have beside them.

-

Hitting atmosphere is a shock, as though something has shaken loose in her chest. Listening to the murmuring and looking around, Clarke sees others rubbing a hand over their heart, like they felt it too. Clarke doesn’t want to turn her head to look at Wells to see if he is too, can’t stand the thought of him being here (hating that she is almost relieved he is until she remembers her father behind the airlock). He says the shock was just hitting the atmosphere but it doesn’t feel true, feels like there was something else. 

And then all her attention is on the monitors blinking to life and Chancellor Jaha is telling them they are sacrifices for the greater good, given a second chance that might as well be a death sentence.  
-  
Clarke watches one of the floating boys hit the floor as the dropship crashes to the ground, watches a breathe of golden dust float delicately from his chest, a ghost of a shape, and knows he is dead (the Ark still managed to float them). The gold dust dissipates, and maybe it was only an illusion, only dust shaken from the crash, but it is heartbreaking to watch it vanish. 

There is a phantom weight on her shoulder, a warmth, but there is no time for that, she has to make sure she really can’t anything do for the two boys who followed that boy, Finn’s, idiotic example.  
-  
The hatch is open and it’s too bright to see and it nearly burns but Clarke can’t look away. Everyone is streaming out the open hatch, running and yelling. Too overjoyed to stand still. She is too, everything is so so green, and the sky is so blue, and its almost too much to handle. It makes her wish for paints for a moment before she remembers the map she grabbed. 

Clarke walks away from the ruckus, opening the map as she goes. She stands on a earthen ridge and she can barely believe she is here, that this is real. And then she sees the mountains in the distance and knows that more went wrong with the landing then just the late firing rockets. 

Finn comes to stand next her and makes a shitty joke, calling her princess and she does not have time for this.

“See that peak over there? Mount Weather,“ her voice is steady as she says it, left hand clenching on the map, right hand steady as she points towards the distant ridge, “our supplies are on the other side of a radiation soaked forest.

“They dropped us on the wrong damn mountain.” 

And then there is a weight on her shoulder, a tight grip, and she turns to tell Finn to back off, but it’s not his hand. There is a dark bird on her shoulder, and its large and its beautiful and she should be yelling like she hears in the camp, but all she can do is watch as the bird hops down her right arm to her wrist and tilt its head at her. 

Clarke should pay attention to Finn scrambling away and to the yelp he lets out, but she can’t. Can’t look away from the bird, a raven, or maybe a crow, distant memories of earth skills tell her, on her arm. The feathers are black and glinting blue, darkly iridescent. It feels familiar, like a missing piece she didn’t know had been gone. It kloks at her, the sound harsh and loud, and then it says “Clarke?” and his, it’s a he not it, voice is deep and sounds like home. 

And really, she should pay attention to the noises behind her, the escalating shouts, and is that a roar? But all she can do is look at the bird on her arm and know that nothing is the same. She really doesn’t have time for this.


	2. Octavia has a brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy, Octavia, and names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introductions continue

As the drop ship careens down towards Earth, Bellamy only lets himself have one concern: Octavia. He does not let himself wonder if the old stories were true. Does not consider all the histories he read, where there were advisors and other less easily defined voices. Was there truth to those stories, where people carried their hearts on their shoulders? That they walked by their side? Given shape and form, fur and feathers, shouting to the world a person’s truth.

 

He is as much a student of history as he can be, and the Ark’s twelve colonies, and knows it couldn’t be that simple, even if it was true. A snake was both an ancient symbol of the healer and at the same time a venomous danger, a silent death lurking in the grass for others.

 

He didn’t watch the monitor as it lit up, not needing the reminder of what he had done. He has a sister to care for, the Ark and its excuses no longer matters.

-

Maybe, just maybe Bellamy should have let himself think about more than just surviving the landing and finding Octavia. Maybe he shouldn’t have just stood there reveling in the joy on O’s face after following her out of the dropship.

 

Maybe then he wouldn’t be so damn shocked by the giant bird sitting on Octavia’s shoulder. A vicious looking hooked beak, talons probably as long as Octavia’s fingers, and really, what the hell. He is studiously not looking at the black bear besides himself. One shock at a time, is that too much to ask? He doesn’t really want the answer to that question as he looks at O and listens to the yelling and what the hell, screeching? roaring? going on.The rest of the 100 prisoners are in a uproar, scared and awed in equal measure. A yelp and following bark amends that to also sort of panicked.

 

There are 12, 13 year olds with beasts flickering between shapes and damn the Ark, sending kids down in a rust bucket to what could have been death. What still could be death.

 

Before he can think more about it, the bear is leaning against his leg and his hand is in the fur at the bear’s shoulders without hesitation. Bellamy looks down then, and bear is looking back at him, eyes dark as his own, steadier than he is feeling. He shot the chancellor, he killed the..no, it doesn’t matter, they can’t reach him here. A rumble, almost a growl, comes from the bear and the feel of her, is a comfort he hasn’t known, maybe ever, grounds him.

 

“What we did doesn’t matter, we had to protect Octavia. The rules of the Ark no longer apply.” Her voice is low and quiet, and Bellamy didn’t know something besides Octavia being okay, being happy could make him feel so light.

 

A spirited voice, deep and so happy, grabs Bellamy’s attention then. It’s O’s bird, on the ground a few steps ahead of Octavia, as she walked towards them. They had approached from across the clearing when he wasn’t paying attention. It’s amazing to think how this bird, this fierce and proud looking hawk is his sister’s.

 

“You named us, do we get to name you?” the bird says with his head tilted, eye on Bellamy and his bear. Octavia laughs with joy and grins brightly at them and says, “Yeah big brother, do we get to give your bear a name?”

 

Bellamy shakes his head with a laugh, and his bear, his other (second) heart says “It is only fair. But first, you need a name.” She is looking O’s bird. Who simply laughs at her.

 

“A name? I already have a name.” He spreads his wings and flaps them, exultant. “I am Augustus.” Octavia laughs again, maybe at the look on Bellamy’s face, maybe with the sheer joy of existing. Bellamy is pretty sure he has the sappiest look on his face, and really hopes all of the delinquents are too distracted by the ground to notice.

 

“Didn’t you know Octavia had a brother?” Augustus continues with, voice bright and happy, awkwardly hopping closer to Bellamy and his bear.

 

“So, big sister, who are you?” Octavia’s voice is brighter still, laughter at the edges. The bear steps forward then, breaking contact with Bellamy, who crosses his arms and just keeps grinning at O.

 

“I thought you were going to name her?” Bellamy’s tone is trying for sarcastic and falls short, too filled with joy.

 

His black bear rumbles a laugh and agrees, “That’s an answerless question until you tell me Augustus.” And she is close enough now to nudge him so gently with her nose, eyes closed.

 

Augusts laughs and then jumps, flapping his wings, landing on the bear’s shoulders. He turns around, careful of his talons, looks to Octavia and says, “They are right Octavia, we need to give them an answer.”

 

“I guess we can’t keep them in suspense huh?” She asks, and Bellamy doesn’t think she has stopped smiling for a moment.

 

“It’s only polite.” Augustus says, with seemingly sage nod of his head, and twists to look at Bellamy with an eye.

 

“Since you are such a nerd about history, we figured there was no better name than Clio, the Greek muse of history, right?” Octavia seems hesitate for the first time, and Bellamy swallows, overwhelmed, and doesn’t think about whether or not he deserves to be here.

 

“Yeah O, Clio was the muse of history. It’s perfect.” He pauses for a moment, then frowns at her, unfolding his arms, and placing his hands on his hips, “But really? A nerd, I am not a nerd. There is nothing nerdy about history, its badass.”

 

Clio turns to look at him and laughs the loudest of the 3 at his protest. Bellamy is pretty sure he has never been this happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still have no clue where I am actually going with this. oops. But i am having fun with it.


	3. Mud and grime are not a bird's best friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time jump to season 2! Because I can.

As she and Anya move towards where Clarke hopes is her people are, the silence between them lingers and grows thick, tenser with every step. Or maybe only she and Poe are feeling the tension, Anya and her bobcat seem perfectly resigned to scowling at her back in silence as they follow. 

Poe fidgets on her shoulder, rustling his feathers and pretending he isn’t watching Anya’s bobcat. He is doing a terrible job of it. 

Clarke just hopes Anya takes it for guardedness instead of fear, or their near overwhelming curiosity. There has been little time since landing on Earth for anything but survival, not nearly enough time to talk about souls and what they mean.

(Bellamy had had a few chances to talk a little about how their animals’ form had meaning, shaped by culture and something like truth. And that no matter what anyone said, no matter all the theories, the species their souls shaped themselves to had personal meanings, not just some lump sum truth. Maybe for some a rattlesnake meant death and danger, shouting their danger to the world, but to others it was a creature that would rather be left alone, threatening because it just wanted to be safe.

Raven had scoffed, but not argued with him. Clarke had wanted to ask her what she disagreed with, but the things with Finn and trying to stay alive had prevented it.)

The bobcat carries no wounds, or at least, nothing like Anya’s aching skull and bandaged limbs. His fur is ragged, skin loose, though he too seems to not even consider acknowledging it. So few days and such a huge shift is awful to witness, what the hell is wrong with the Mountain, that they could do that. Clarke and Poe are sure that the caged Grounders and animals will give them nightmares, how the air had been thick, tasting like blood and fear.

Clarke still isn’t sure how she subdued Anya without the bobcat clawing her up, wonders how Poe kept him away. A bobcat vs a raven, even a large one, does not sound like a fight that Poe should have won. She remembers the vicious snarling and raucous caws as she and Anya had fought at the drop ship, remembers being terrified for Poe, but not willing to just lay down and die, to let Anya stop her. 

She wonders at his name, hell is it even he, knows that asking Anya would probably have her teeth at Clarke’s throat for the affront.

More than a month on the ground and Clarke still has more questions than she knows what to do with. She does not have time to keep thinking about it either as Poe breaks the silence. 

“So, how far ahead do you think I could scout?” His voice is calm, head tilted towards her, hiding the tension Clarke knows he is feeling, sharing it with him. She does not hear Anya’s quick inhale, does not see her scowl fade into shock for a moment as she and her bobcat glance at each other. 

“Can you even fly?” Her voice is lighter than she thought she could make it, teasing. “All you do is sit on my shoulder and hit me.” She is not going to let Anya know how damn exhausted and in pain she is.

Poe fluffs his feathers with magnificent disdain, beak held high, and says “I could be tangling your hair instead Clarke, don’t start a fight you will lose.”

A breathy ha and a gentle shake of her head is Clarke’s only response. 

“Do you doubt me? I bet I could cause knots you would never be able to undo. My favorite part of earth skills and general lessons were about knots and sewing.” He has an eye back on Anya’s bobcat now, watching as the they slink along besides Anya. 

“Earth Skills? How.. what do you mean your favorite part of Earth Skills was knots? You weren’t,” here Clarke pauses, not sure how to say it, or if she really wants to, knowing Anya can hear them.

She feels Poe shift, tilting his head to look at her, then raps her sharply on the top of her head with his left wing. As she winces, and reaches a her free hand towards the ache he twists, resting his head along the top of hers, looking towards Anya. He answers deliberately, baiting, “Humans always have souls Clarke, just because you couldn’t see me doesn’t mean I wasn’t there.”

This time, Clarke didn’t miss Anya’s shocked breathe and her stumble, and feels her stop walking. She turns to look at her, eyebrows raised. Anya is staring at Poe, which is even odder than her stumble. From what little Clarke has had a chance to see, Anya flat out does not acknowledge others animals (daemons the Mountain Men called them and why would her heart be called something so like demon?), as though it was taboo to even look to them, much less speak to them. 

Her expression is blank under the mud, voice hard, edged with something Clarke can’t identify, “What do you mean you couldn’t see him? Only the dead and monsters in the mountain have no daemons." The bobcat is pressing against Anya’s leg, the first contact they have let Clarke and Poe see. 

(Hiding under the dead so the Reapers didn’t see them, and then later when Clarke had had to figure out how to drag him along with Anya without carrying him, without touching him was not the same. The thought of touching him made her cringe still.)

Poe answers for her and Clarke knows it has more to do with poking at Anya than actually being helpful. He hadn’t enjoyed the mud Anya had thrown around anymore than she had, even if he has preened it off since. And well, if the bobcat isn’t going to speak, Poe will just have to do all the talking he can to spite them.

“On the Ark, I couldn’t take shape. Clarke carried me in her heart. Something about space… no spirit could.” He shrugs as he finishes, shifting his claws on Clarke’s shoulder. He feels unsettled, it hurts to think about how he hadn’t been there, not in a way that could be felt.

The look now on Anya’s face is odd, and her bobcat is almost tucked behind her knees, staring at them, ears pinned back. Anya shifts her gaze to Clarke’s and almost bites out, “No wonder you know nothing, you barely even know the truth of yourself.”

Clarke throws her free hand up in the air and turns around with a huff and, “Yes thank you, I didn’t know that’s what you thought of me at all.” Poe smacks her with his wing again with a sigh, and turns to look at Anya with one eye.

“And what is our truth then? If I am a raven or crow,” and he nods at the bobcat still tucked close behind Anya, ”if you are a bobcat, what does that say about us?”

Clarke and Poe wait for a response, tense, and really, she does not have time for this. She starts walking forward after a few moments, Poe still twisted about to see Anya. The quicker they find whoever is ahead the better. And then maybe she can figure out what the hell she is actually going to do with Anya.

“Death, Sky girl, that is what a raven is. Messenger and harbinger. Carrion bird.” And it’s not Anya speaking, but the bobcat. Her voice is low and raspy, not hateful but achingly angry. Clarke doesn’t let herself pause at the answer, doesn’t turn and stare. The first time the bobcat speaks and it is to call Clarke and Poe death. It is only fitting really, and Clarke doesn’t want to think about the truth in it. Villages wrecked, warriors killed, bridges burned to nothing, little girls dead because of her.

Poe turns away, shuffling his grip on Clarke and shaking out his wings. “I am much more interested in colors than corpses.” he says in an undertone, trying for offended and falling short. They were sent to the ground to try and escape death, not to cause it, and yet.

A rough, coughing snort and the bobcat the says, with a sneer in her voice, “And you think your intentions matter? It is done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been sitting on my computer for ages. might as well post it! Eventually i go back to posting bits set in season 1, but here we go anyhow.

**Author's Note:**

> So! Mildly obsessed with daemons is essentially my most basic setting. When thinking about the 100 and daemons the logistics gave me nightmares; dealing with daemons in space, with how in the hell a civilization deals with lack of space and souls that require space of their own. 
> 
> Instead of coming up with creepy things like delayed settling and forcefully encouraged stretching, I considered that daemons wouldn't actually be able to really take shape. 
> 
> Which just makes the changes wrought by heading back to Earth even more interesting. And painful.


End file.
